


Buoyancy

by TheDarknessFactor



Series: The Scientific Implications of Two Sisters [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Abuse, F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Pre-class story, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-23
Updated: 2016-02-23
Packaged: 2018-05-22 21:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6094205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarknessFactor/pseuds/TheDarknessFactor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're pieces on the board of some Sith's sick game.  S'kora doesn't believe there's anything more out there.  </p><p>Vette believes otherwise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buoyancy

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for the abuse of slaves (the use of shock collars, starvation, experimentation). 
> 
> This idea for a plot bunny (where the SI meets Vette while they're still both slaves) wouldn't leave me alone. Please enjoy!

They call them ‘slave pens’ – like she and the rest are animals. Considering the fact that animals don't have scar patterns like S'kora and some of the others, however, S'kora thinks that the animals are better off.

The pen is a fenced off area. When the fence is active, moving past it sets the shock collar off – usually on the lethal setting. S'kora witnessed it when she first arrived – another of the new slaves tried to run, and in the next moment was seizing on the ground. She felt nothing for the man aside from a vague hint of sadness. What a way to destroy hope.

The morning alarm tolls throughout the pens, and S'kora stands without prompting from the overseers. Her muscles do not shake, though there are sturdier slaves than her whose bodies are becoming atrophied as time goes by and rations begin to dwindle. It is one of the many reasons why the slaves give her a wide berth.

Everything about her – her appearance, her strength – is unnatural. S'kora thinks she used to care.

The overseers don't care, so long as she works. Oh, she has scars from the shock collar just like the rest, but that's mostly because she can't always stop herself from making some scathing comment whenever one of the overseers makes some asinine remark about the inferiority of slaves. But she does what she's told, and the overseers on Lothal are not sadistic, like the ones on Maridun.

“Another day. Ready to slap more stones on top of each other?”

S'kora glances at Vette. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that almost every other slave gives her a wide berth.

“A pile of bantha poodoo is more aesthetically appealing than what the Sith call ‘architecture’,” she replies.

Vette snorts. “Tell me about it. Beats being in the mines, though.”

“I can't argue with that.”

The fences are deactivated, and they follow the flow of slaves as they're herded towards the work site. Supposedly they're building a remote getaway manor for some Sith Lord or another, but S'kora expresses skepticism whenever she's asked about it.

Vette is directed to mix cement today, while S'kora is – as predicted – told to go slap more stones on top of each other. Typical.

Today's overseer is more interested in whatever holodrama he's watching than his actual career, so S'kora moves more slowly than usual, keeping her ears stained for news. There is a group of Cathar nearby discussing the arrival of more slaves. Two humans have their heads bored together, murmuring about the dwindling food supplies. A Togrutan laments the disappearance of his sister.

S'kora keeps track of the second conversation; she doesn't believe that the overseers are deliberately attempting to starve the slaves, but she wouldn't put it past a Sith to forget that slaves are also in need of nourishment. The food shortage has been a growing concern for all of them, and S'kora wants it resolved as much as anyone else.

When the midday meal is announced, she passes half of her portion to Vette.

Vette sighs, but takes it all the same. “You really need to stop. You look like you're about to keel over.”

S'kora smirks. “Passing out and earning the ire of the overseers is not a part of my immediate plans.”

“Yeah, I know. It's kinda scary, to be honest.”

They're sitting side-by-side, leaning against a large boulder. Their arms brush whenever they move, but S'kora enjoys the warmth of it. The other slaves are spread out around them, murmuring quietly to one another.

S'kora finishes her dry, tasteless ration first. It allows her to study Vette’s profile. The Twi'lek has an unmarred face, owing to the fact that her original master differs from S'kora's. There are others here with similar markings, but she's come to discover that most slave masters lack the depravity of her first master.

Vette's skin may not be marked, but she has smeared mud on it to obscure her features. Sometimes, Twi'lek women are taken away for a reason that everyone knows and nobody says; Vette and S'kora both try to come up with ways to keep Vette from being noticed.

Vette glances at her. “What?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

Vette looks amused. “For what?”

The alarm rings before S'kora can answer, and then it's back to work.

* * *

The creature strides forward, barely pausing to dispatch another terrified soldier. It halts before an important-looking man, who appears to be doubled over in pain. There is a moment of pause, where they seem to speak to each other, before the creature takes its lightsaber and runs the man through.

The scene freezes, and the world around the creature dissolves into darkness. Then the creature starts to laugh.

S'kora inhales slowly upon waking so as not to disturb Vette. Her stomach growls loudly, now clamoring for food because she denied it earlier, but S'kora ignores it and crawls a few feet away from Vette. She pulls her knees to her chest and allows a shaky breath to be released.

S'kora has never heard the creature make a sound before. Now, she can reasonably guess that it is a woman.

She fights to get her breathing under control, and is rewarded by the gradual relaxing of her muscles. She lays back down in her spot next to Vette, closes her eyes, and prepares to face the creature once again.

* * *

“I'm a little worried,” Vette says.

S'kora pauses, ration bar halfway to her mouth. “About what?”

“I talked with a couple of the other Twi'leks the other day. Joban says that people are disappearing in the night. They don't come back.”

S'kora frowns. “And they're not finding bodies?”

“Nope.” Vette snorts, but her grip on her ration is white-knuckled. “Sounds like a good omen, right?”

“There are a million possibilities. I wonder if it's to do with the missing rations?”

“Knowing these crazy Imp bastards?  Probably."  Vette sighs. “We don't need any conspiracy-level shavit. We've got enough problems.”

“And since when has anyone ever cared about our problems?” S'kora asks.

“Point taken.”

There are murmurs of unrest among the other slaves. Nobody seems capable of looking one another in the eye. When they’re ordered to get back to work, the usual chatter is absent; there’s nothing for S’kora to listen in on, this time. She fits the stones together, one at a time, concentrating on the sensation of grit on her hands and the noise of other workers around her. Through it all, she can feel the development of a heavy weight in her stomach.

She forgoes her dinner ration completely, handing it off to Vette.

“No way.” Vette tries to shove the ration away.  “You need to eat something, S’kora. I’m not gonna be the reason you starve to death.”

S’kora raises an eyebrow. “I suppose I’ll just throw it in the dirt, then.”

“Kriff, you— ugh. Fine, give it.”

S’kora ignores her grumbling stomach in favor of listening to Vette complain about one of the overseers. She joins in with a few scathing remarks of her own, always happy to verbally abuse their ‘masters’.

That night, the air is dry enough that her scars itch. The stars illuminate the sky with their brilliance, creating a sort of glow across the campsite. In spite of the extra light, S’kora’s eyes are not quite closed, watching for movement on the edges of the pen. She and Vette are camped out near the middle, surrounded by other slaves on all sides, and as such there are no disturbances near them.

She sees nothing that night, but the talk the next day is about an entire family who has disappeared in one of the other pens.

One of the other human slaves is brave enough to question her overseer about the missing people.

The overseer responds by thumbing the switch, sending the man convulsing.

“Back to work!” he barks.

“So good to realize that you count among us little people as being ‘not in the know’,” S’kora comments loudly. She receives a shock of her own a moment later, but the overseer’s expression speaks for itself.

“The overseers either know something, but can do nothing,” S’kora tells Vette later, “Or they don’t know what’s going on either, and are powerless to stop it.”

Vette growls. “I bet those sleemos know exactly what’s going on. They serve a kriffing Sith Lord; that’s a good enough reason for them to be terrified.”

S’kora sits down on a nearby rock, patting the space beside her. They only have a few minutes before curfew begins. Vette sits beside her, putting her face in her hands, while S’kora tentatively places a hand on her shoulder.

“Vette,” she says softly. “What would you have us do? We’re not the ones with the power in this situation. To them, we’re expendable. We live in the Empire. There are always going to be more slaves. This Sith Lord— whoever they are— they could slaughter every single one of us. No one would care. They’re merely siphoning our ranks right now, but if we show signs of rebellion then we’ll throw away any chance at survival.”

“I know all that,” Vette mumbles. “I just…”

“Wish we didn’t have to go through the motions, day by day, waiting to be taken?”

“Something like that.”

S’kora remembers a warm presence hugging her in the nights, during her nightmares. That has been an empty space in her life for years now. She doesn’t believe in life beyond this anymore.

“How about this,” she begins. “If they try to take one of us, we fight back. I’d rather die knowing that I managed to take the life of an overseer with me. To see the fear in their eyes that they inspire in so many others.”

“Wow, that’s dark.” But Vette is grinning fiercely. “Stars, yes. Now that’s a plan I can get behind.”

* * *

Weeks— even months— pass without incident. They’re making progress on the manor now. S’kora is one of those who is assigned to climb the scaffolding to continue to stack the stones on top of one another. Her small size and slight build mean that she is in less danger of falling over, or toppling the scaffolding.

Vette is now working on the other side of the compound, where the grounds are being constructed.

They have begun to sleep back-to-back. The slightest sound never fails to wake S’kora, but it’s never anything more than another slave shifting about nearby. She continues to give Vette portions of her food, and the portions themselves continue to get smaller. People disappear, and others starve to death. The overseers remain unmoved. The slaves are all too exhausted and hungry to do anything other than continue to work, and hope for a reprieve.

From atop the scaffolding, S’kora can see everything. The group that is working on the grounds is the subject of her attention more often than not, where Vette’s blue skin still stands out from the rest, in spite of the mud. The grounds overseer, from what Vette has told her, is a tad more vicious than the rest, but S’kora knows that Vette is being smart about it and keeping her head down.

She should probably follow her example.

A girl, a few years younger than S’kora (she must be what— fourteen, fifteen?), collapses while trying to lift another stone. S’kora turns her head sharply in the direction of the overseer, but he has yet to spot her.

“Overseer?” she calls. “I wanted to know when we could return to ground level. That way your ugly mug would at least be a respectable distance away.”

The pain of the shock collar is always intense, and it always cuts off S’kora’s air supply. This moment is more than a little brief, so her lungs begin to hurt before the pain finally abates. The overseer snarls wordlessly at her and sends her a rude gesture before surveying the rest of the slaves.

The girl still hasn’t gotten up.

The overseer grunts, and presses a different trigger on his belt. Now, the girl won’t ever be getting up again; S’kora bows her head and continues working.

A middle-aged Togrutan dies when falling from the scaffolding an hour later. S’kora could swear that she feels his neck break right along with him, and each horrified gasp by the slaves below hits her to her core.

After the workday ends, and they’ve already had their dinner portions, Vette shakes her head.

“This is insane,” she insists. “More and more people are dying every day. I don’t even know how the hell you’re still alive.”

“I feed off of contempt and bitterness,” is S’kora’s deadpan reply.

Vette laughs shakily. “Yeah, I’d believe it. Your sarcasm definitely gives me life.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“What do you think they’ll do to us once we’re finished here?”

“I try not to think that far ahead,” S’kora admits. “But… I suspect we’ll be kept on. Slaves are a mark of a Sith’s power. This lord won’t want to give that up, in spite of the way he’s burning through us by either starving us or taking us in the night. To him, this is all just a game. We’re just the pieces.”

Vette shakes her head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been considered a person in my entire life. Well, except by you, and the other slaves. Anyway, you think I’d be used to it by now, but…for some reason it’s still hard to hear that we’re just the playthings of a Sith Lord.”

S’kora waits for her to continue.

“I know we’re worth more than this,” Vette insists. “You, me, the rest— we’ve all got a place in this galaxy, and it sure as hell isn’t here. One day, you and me— we’re gonna find that place.”

“Together?” S’kora asks quietly.

“No, we must work alone.” Vette scoffs. “Yes, of course together, you idiot.”

Her eyes are alive, and intense, and she seems to be a beacon to S’kora in that moment. It’s almost too easy to lean in and kiss her.

When Vette doesn’t respond, S’kora pulls back, her chest tightening. Vette’s eyes are wide, but she’s avoiding S’kora’s gaze.

“I, uh…” She stumbles over her words in a way that she did not a moment before. “I’m sorry, S’kora. I meant what I said, I promise you that, but I just… I’m not…”

“You don’t feel that way about me,” S’kora deduces.

“…no.”

S’kora smiles at her, even though the vice grip on her chest is only getting tighter. “It’s alright, Vette. It’s enough that you care. Truly.”

Vette relaxes. “I’m glad to hear it.”

* * *

A flash of terror forces S’kora awake. The space behind her is empty. (Just like how the warmth around her has been gone for years, and years—)

She springs to her feet, moving soundlessly through the sleeping multitudes. Yes, the perpetrators have been sloppy— their footprints are easy to follow. They go beyond the lethality fence. There is no sign of a Twi’lek body anywhere.

S’kora walks through the fence unflinchingly. There is no breath of relief when she makes it through to the other side— just a sensation that she is on the right path. She follows it, pulling it towards herself, able to see the way ahead where others would be blind.

The tracks lead away from the manor, into the nearby forest. This planet is not known for its predators, so S’kora is able to make her way through the trees unhampered by nightmare beings with large teeth. There are a few moments where she believes that she sees the creature from her dreams stalking through the trees alongside her, but when she turns her head to look there is nothing.

An alien sensation is pressing against her mind— a seething mass of fear and despair that is not her own. It grows stronger as she follows the path until she comes across a cave.

There is light spilling from the entrance, but no guards.

S’kora creeps inside, hugging the walls and keeping to the shadows. The cave transforms from rugged to sophisticated once she gets deep enough inside, the floor and walls turning to smooth, slate-gray metal. She does not breathe. She does not make a sound.  
In the main chamber, five slaves are tethered to tables. Each them has glazed looks on their faces. Vette is on the table to the far right, with the same look. All of them have needles inserted in the sides of their necks.

For the first time in her life, S’kora— rather than pushing away the pain, the anger, the despair— takes it into herself. She breathes it in and expels none of it, feeling the sensation fill her blood like molten gold.

There is a man pacing in front of the tables, taking notes on a datapad. It is child’s play to reach out and _twist_ —

He collapses to the floor without even crying out.

The silence that follows the snapping sound rings through the chamber, but S’kora barely notices. Never before has she felt like this— not once in her life— it’s immeasurable, it’s burning her from the inside out—

It feels incredible.

“Just like that, and yet you fail to ruin my experimentation.” S’kora jerks her head towards the source of the voice— a human, with black veins surrounding his red eyes. “No matter. I can feel the Dark Side flowing through you, child. Truly, I did not believe I would be so lucky as to have a Force-sensitive slave as one of my subjects.”

This man— there is the same kind of power raging in his veins as well, but it does not feed him as it does her. She remains silent.

“Amazing,” he murmurs, staring at her. (She is a piece on his game board.) “Your malnourishment is enough that you ought to have died five times over, yet you are stronger than many other slaves. How did you escape my notice?”

This is a man who has always held power over others. This is a man who looks at people like her and sees only cattle, or tools. He believes himself to be the superior of the two of them, and it is clear as day to her.

Her voice is quiet, but it rings throughout the cavern. “Die.”

He does.

* * *

Other Sith come the next day, claiming that the lord of this manor was a traitor, and that all the slaves are being relocated. S’kora, still burning on the inside, is noticed immediately.

(She doesn’t get to say goodbye to Vette.)

**Author's Note:**

> As per usual, a few notes:
> 
> 1\. I'm taking some liberties with the general timeline. I know that Vette was freed by a pirate before she ended up on Korriban. In order to compensate, the Sith Inquisitor class story takes place several years _before_ the Sith Warrior class story. That way, there's time for Vette's back story to occur before she meets the Warrior.
> 
> 2\. The slavers who originally bought S'kora are well known, in that they have all their slaves marked when they first acquire them. S'kora is not the only one with a pattern of facial scars.
> 
> 3\. S'kora and Vette are both 19 in this.
> 
> 4\. Though she doesn't actively use the Force until her confrontation with the Sith, S'kora has been subconsciously drawing on it to keep herself alive for years.
> 
> Any questions, feel free to drop by my [Tumblr](http://darknessfactor.tumblr.com/ask)!


End file.
